ARmy Rumour SErvice

:D Cheers peeps. Have to go and lie down in a dark room now, not written so much since I had to fill in the reports of how the Bde Pet Corp trainer ruptured himself trying to clear the boudary fence at Drummadd after a guard dog training session went...erm.....wrong.

Cheers the noo !

Wow, what response !! :D Cheers folks, glad ye enjoyed it. I've been racking me brains here, Christ, it's 25-ish years since me and Stump tramped the bally bogs of the green place and I doubt I can top the THEM tale (I've been 'dining out' on that fecker for years) but here's a wee tale that might tickle ye.

Sorry, this may ramble a bit !! but by way of an intro..........

For those of you that don't know the Army Dog Unit(NI) was run run by the Pet Corp(R.A.V.C.) but all the handlers were volunteers from every other unit in the Army, I'll stand corrected, but I don't know of any other unit where you'd have found such an all arms mix and they were a truly eclectic and...erm...interesting bunch.

Anyhow, the permenant Pet Corp presence was tiny, and the only other Pet Corp we came across were dog trainers they imposed on us from Melton to get some operational time under thier belts and thier GSM. Mostly the guys were OK but thier presence was a pain in the arrse as someone had to accompany them on ops. However,one particular arrsehole full screw arrived and was put in charge of the biggest section in the Bde. Now, not only was this unfair on the incumbent, a Plank who'd been dogging in the Province longer than Gerry A's had a beard, but it was unfair on the Pet Corp tube to leave him to the tender mercys of some of the cut throats and brigands that inhabited the Section at the time.

Anyhow, it took about three weeks for this prick to annoy just about everyone in the Brigade which was some going given that we were spread far and wide but the issue that sealed his fate was his treatment of the dog he'd been given when he arrived.

TBC

I know, I know, bear wi' me. Please !

Now, dog handlers, whatever you think of them (and I've heard all the comments over the years) have one thing in common. You can spit in thier eye, p!ss in thier beer or molest thier children, but, the dog !!! Don't feck with the dog !!! and certainly don't mistreat one of the guys favourite dogs, 'specially if someones out too get you.
The dog in question was a gorgeous,smokey grey, long haired shepherd who'd been in the Provence for a couple of years and was everyones favourite . Unfortunately the Tube got him when his previous handler RTU'd.
And he mistreated him.
So, anyway, one day me and two of the other handlers arrived at the place from our one man swamps elsewhere in the Bde to cover for some big local op that the sections dogs were out on and to our relief found the the Tube had departed on a weeks leave that morning. While the other two turned the accomodation over looking for the hidden beer and porn stashes I went out to the kennels and renewed my aquaintance with the dog and found him in shit state. His coat was in rag order and he had patches of weeping skin the size of your hands under his coat. The poor cnut was miserable. I took him in and, over some of the beer the other two had liberated, we formed a plan.

It was a fairly straight forward plan I have too say. We decided to shop the t*at.



TBC

Now, when it came to dealing with the Pet Corp ye had to be careful as a 'Them and Us' culture existed sometimes, so instead of going through the Pet Corp BDE Sgt ( "could'nt contact him, sir" "Thought this was a case you'd want to see straight away,sir" ..ahem..ahem) we grabbed a van and took the dog straight to the vet, a Pet Corp Captain, who went truly and awesomely, feckin ballistic, hit the roof, and launched into a tirade as only a Rupert with a yah yah accent can. 'Facking' Unit handlers this and 'Facking' Unit handlers that.....blah...blah..facking blah...who's facking dawrg is this anyway !!
'It's Cpl ****** dog, sir'
An extremly pregnant paws (geddit ?)
'WHO's facking dawrg !?!?'
Realisation dawning.
'Erm, Cpl ********dog,sir. Y'know, one of your facking handlers. Oh, and a trainer to boot.....sir!'

Well, his eyes just about popped oot his heed, he went a funny shade of purple, let out a strangled curse that sounded like 'STRAGAFOOKOLODDO !!' and stomped out the room !

'Ha !' we thought 'Fcuking result !'

But, it was'nt to be. The usual Pet Corp cover up ensued and the Tube remained in situ. But, he knew that we knew that he knew that we knew what he'd done to the dog and despite the bollox about 'rare skin disorders' and other such cobblers the dog was properly cared for after that.

And......

The Tubes nemisis was just arriving in the shape of the meanest, funniest, and it has to be said, the most downright feckin ugliest Argyll and Sutherland Highlander you ever saw who took over as the Section 2i/c about this time.



TBC

Now, the town where this section was based was quite big and on a Friday and Saurday night the two local tribes would entertain themselves by getting p!shed as arrses until closing time and then meeting in the main street where they would club the fcuking daylights out of each other until they all got bored. The SF view of this was 'Fine, saves us doing it.' The end result was usually some martyers to either 'Ra Cause' or 'Quain and Coontry' in the A&E and few broken windows. Then a new Unit took over.

The new OC decided he was having none of this and started deploying bricks into the town at shutting time to control the unrest, the end result of which was it went on longer and the PBI got bricked by both sides.

One particular night it really did get out of hand and someone in thier wisdom decided to 'SEND FOR THE DOGS !!' which the Ops Room duly did.

Now, obviously, who ever sent up the the cry did'nt expect the rag bag of Heinz 57's, doey eyed alsations and baby loving labradors that turned up but the flap had obviously go the better off him.
'You lot, get in there and do something !!' he commanded the ugliest A&SH on the planet and pointed towards a heaving throng of celtic and rangers scarves, DPM and assorted weaponry.
'Wharra fcuk dae ye expect me tae dae ?' came the reply, 'it's fookin search dugs a've goat, no fookin grizzly bears !'
'Well I don't fcuking know !!!' came the reply, 'Do something !!'

So he did. He got the dogs back in the Rovers and went back to camp.

After a 'debrief' the next day which was liberally puncuated with lots of
'Ah dinny fookin' care, suurr' , 'Dae whit the fook ye want surr' and 'Thur ma fookin dugs an thall dae whit Ah fooking tell tham, surr !' the ugliest Argyll on the planet arranged to have some guard dogs brought down from Long Kesh for the weekends bun fights.

Which brings us right back.....




........ to the Tube.


TBC

A_S with your permission, could I cut and paste your story onto a Bluey and sent it to my mate in Iraq. I think he needs a boost.

Guard dogs or 'Snappers' are the GSD's that joined the Army but were too aggresive to be trained as anything else. The best ones were kept for training the handlers at Melton and UK deployment. The psycopathic, croccodile on legs ,barely controlable death machine remainder went to Long Kesh to guard the Maze prison. These were'nt to be fcuked about with and I doubt there's many GD handlers going about that don't carry some kind of souviner from the day thier Snapper decided he was going to be boss for the day.

Anyhow, I pitched up at the camp one day and saw there was something going at the footie pitch beside the kennels. The pitch was right on the edge of the camp and surrounded on all sides by six feet chain link and topped with the usual barbldee wire. There was as entrance by the kennels and in the far corner a thirty foot high block built sanger with a door at the bottom. The sanger was'nt used usually.

When I got there I found the ugliest Argyll in the world standing watching the Tube who was lecturing the four snapper handlers who'd arrived from Kesh for the weekends fun.

'Ut's ra same uvry weekend' he glottled when I asked, 'yon coont teechin the boyz hoo tae suck eggs. He'll be oaf in a meenit. Live baiting yon bear thair.' he indicated a particulary impressive killing machine who was balefully sizing up the Tube.

'Livebaiting' was a technique that Pet Corp trainers used for GD training instead of the full padded suit and helmet. They put themselves in a position where they could run from the dog and get to safety, say, up a tree or the like, before the dog got too you. It stopped dogs getting 'suit focused' but you had to use it with care.

'Aye, livebaiting, ra posin' coont' says the ugliest Argyll on the planet when I asked him, 'he'll start at yon half way line an' run like fook when the dugs released and hide in the bottom of yon sanger.T*at. Watch, hurr ee goes.'

Sure enough all six foot four of gangly Tube saunters out to the half way line and starts jumping up and down and baiting the dog which by this time was gnashing,howling and doing summersaults on the end of the lead,
'HALT,HALT,HALT !! OR I RELEASE MY DOG !!' click 'GERRUMMM!!!' and woosh !! the dog took off like a hairy guided missile and the Tube started legging it for the sanger. I glanced at the ugliest Argyll on the planet and saw a smile spread across his puss,
'What the fcuk are you up too ?' I asked,
saying nothing he took his hand out of his pocket, opened it and there was a key !
'Don't fcuking tell me !?!'
'Aye, key tae ra sanger door. Watch this !'

And we did, with a horrible fascination, as the Tube reached the door of the sanger and started tugging on the handle just sort of stiffly at first then more and more franticly as he gazed, horrified, over his shoulder at the ever closing death on legs. Giving up on the door he started legging it along the fenceline, arms going like pistons and his knees damn near reaching ear level. The dog, which looked as though it was about to go supersonic, tried to change direction, tripped, and went rolling arrse over tit which gave the Tube time to get half way along the fence before the pursuit was on again, Everybody was transfixed, including the handler who belatedly took off after his dog and joined in the chase.

The Tube gained the corner but instead of using the extra posts there to climb out of the way he careened round the bend and started tearing down the next straight. The dog, seeing this, took the direct route and headed to intercept him, there seemed to be a dreadful inevitablity about it, but, last gasp, the Tube saw him coming and did a most impressive full stop and volte face for such a gangly fcuker and bolted back for the corner as the dog smashed into the fence where he'd been mere seconds before, recovered, and shot after him again. Christ my heart was in my mouth as we watched the Tube gain the corner and start scrambling up the post, a look of complete terror on his face as he watched the land based hairy cruise missle go airborne and...
'OOOOO, YA CNUT HE'S GOT HIM !!!!' as we all averted our gaze.
'Naw he's naw,' said the ugliest Argyll on the planet, who was grinning from ear to ear by this time, 'he's only nailed his combat jaiket.'

and sure enough there was the Tube, hanging on to the barbldee wire for grim death with 90lbs of snarling fur and fury hanging and jerking from the arrse of his jacket for the few seconds it took for the handler to get there and wrestle a now completely berserk dog off him.

Fcuk me ! I was completely drained, but, the sniggers soon started kicking in,
'Rat'll teach ra posin' coont !' grinned the ugliest Argyll in the world, who, just too finish us off completely walked towards the red, sweating, shredded Tube as he approached and telling him,
'Haw, ****, yuu'll bay needin thus if yur livebaitin'
handed him the key !!!

Marvelous.

Originally Posted by SKJOLD

A_S with your permission, could I cut and paste your story onto a Bluey and sent it to my mate in Iraq. I think he needs a boost.

Fire on dude, paste away